Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope

by Anne Plichota

  She chewed a nail, then stood up and decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air. The night was pitch-black, the air was bracing and there was total silence. Just what she needed. She sat down for a moment in the deserted vegetable plot, unaware that the mysterious figure had followed her and was sitting a few yards away. Letting the stillness of the night wash over her, Oksa stretched out in the fresh, damp grass. She stayed there for ages gazing at the moon, which kept appearing and disappearing among the clouds. She was so lost in thought that it took her a few minutes to hear the sweet melody coming from the old cemetery behind Leomido’s house. She sat up and listened: the voice was low, muted and terribly sad. Oksa shivered, more from cold than fear; even though it sounded less than inviting, her curiosity was aroused and took the upper hand. As usual. She turned round and noticed some small lights shining in the cemetery. She hadn’t been mistaken! Drawing nearer, she recognized Tugdual, leaning against a crooked, ancient gravestone covered with moss. He was dressed in his customary black, with a variety of strange silver necklaces around his neck. He had headphones over his ears and he was singing. A Polypharus was waving its luminous tentacles in time with the melancholy young man’s voice. It was a striking, beautiful and frightening sight. Tugdual looked up, revealing his dark, almost hostile eyes. The tiny diamonds in his ears and nostrils glittered in the darkness. Oksa was glued to the spot, fearing the intimidating youth’s reaction. But instead of rebuffing her, he beckoned her over:

  “You can join me, if you want,”

  “Er… I don’t want to disturb you,” murmured Oksa.

  “You’re not disturbing me. Sit down,” he said, making room beside him against the gravestone.

  Oksa swallowed with difficulty, but complied. “Damn my curiosity… I’m far too inquisitive for my own good,” she thought to herself.

  “Do you like cemeteries?” asked Tugdual point-blank.

  “Er, I don’t know; I don’t think so,” replied Oksa who, at that precise moment, felt like a prize idiot.

  “I love them,” he went on. “I find them soothing. All that silence and stillness. People think I’m unhealthy, but they’re wrong, they don’t understand. All they see is the veneer I choose to show them, when all they have to do is look at what I really am! I mean, look below the surface.”

  “Are you unhappy?” ventured Oksa, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

  To her immense surprise, she realized that Tugdual was carefully considering her question before answering and he was clearly taking it seriously, so she felt less stupid.

  “No, I’m not unhappy. At least, I don’t think so… I think it’s more that I don’t have a gift for happiness, cheerfulness, all that, you know.”

  “But that’s awful!” exclaimed Oksa, genuinely sympathetic.

  “No, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’m happy or unhappy. I just don’t have any great expectations, that’s all.”

  Oksa was upset by the young man’s words. Her shoulders sagged, as if bearing a heavy burden of sadness and compassion.

  “I spent a long time wanting to have powers which would make me stronger than other people,” continued Tugdual. “I pulled out all the stops, I did everything I could.”

  “My father told me about it,” admitted Oksa, grimacing at the memory of the vile potions drunk by Tugdual and his followers.

  “When I found out that all these gifts were innate, I thought I’d achieved my goal. But I soon felt suffocated by the power, so I buried it deep inside me so that it would never see the light of day again.”

  “But why?” exclaimed Oksa.

  “Because power, lil’ Gracious, represents pure danger. Anyone who isn’t afraid of anything is invulnerable, nothing can stop them. It’s fear that makes men weak. But it’s also fear that makes them men. I mean human.”

  “What about you? Aren’t you ever afraid?”

  “Not really… that’s the problem,” admitted Tugdual, looking down.

  Troubled by this strange conversation, neither of them said anything for a moment.

  “What are you listening to?” asked Oksa to change the subject. “Satanic music?”

  “No, I loathe that,” replied Tugdual, with a light laugh which lit up his pale face. “I listen to the most magnificent music ever. Music which is full of the tragedy of mankind and the profound meaning of life. Do you want to listen?”

  With that, he gently placed his headphones over Oksa’s ears and she immediately understood what he’d meant. A glorious voice poured into her ears and then into her mind, flooding her heart and turning it inside out. Was it because she’d had a really bad day? Or because of the words of the Ageless Ones? Or her argument with Gus? Or this poignant music? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she really wanted to cry. She restrained herself, shutting her eyes so tightly that she saw a multitude of little electric dots dancing in front of her. In the end, it was stronger than she was: a huge sob swelled and burst out in a loud throaty wail. Tugdual took off the headphones and put his hand discreetly on hers.

  “Go on, lil’ Gracious, let it all out.”

  “I’m finding things a bit hard at the moment,” she hiccuped, her face streaming with tears.

  “I understand.”

  The tears continued to flow, bearing her worries away with them and lightening her heart. Finally they dried and Oksa’s breathing became calmer.

  “Tugdual?”

  “Yes, lil’ Gracious?”

  “Is there anything I could do to help you?”

  “No,” he replied, looking even more melancholy than ever. “No one can help me. But thanks all the same. You need to concentrate on what’s going on at the moment and, above all, you must have confidence in yourself. The Ageless Ones are right: you’ll come out on top of all this. You’re the only one who can.”

  This was unexpected, but Oksa attached more importance to the remark than she would have done if anyone else had made it.

  “That Orthon-McGraw is evil incarnate, I just know it,” continued Tugdual. “And evil too often triumphs over good; it’s sad but that’s the way it is. Only you’re not like the others, I know that too. I realized it immediately, the minute I saw you. And I know how to spot that kind of thing, believe me. You will succeed.”

  They stayed sitting against the crooked gravestone until Oksa’s feelings were completely under control. Then the Polypharus guided them back to the sleeping house, where they took leave of each other in peaceful silence. The mysterious figure, which until then had been crouching, perfectly motionless, by the low wall of ancient stones, watched them go by, then stood up too in a fluid movement. There was a strange gleam of excitement mingled with anxiety in the depths of its eyes. Suddenly, a bird took flight in a loud clatter of wings. The figure turned its back on the house, stepped over the low wall and disappeared into the vast darkness of the night.

  48

  A HARE CALLED ABAKUM OR ABAKUM THE HARE?

  “GUS! GUUUS!”

  Oksa was shaking her friend, who groaned, reluctant to wake from his deep sleep.

  “Gus! Wake up, you sleepyhead!”

  Oksa’s eyelids were still puffy from all that crying, which only Tugdual had witnessed in the cemetery. Tugdual… he was so fascinating. If only she could do something for him.

  “What do you want?” grumbled Gus. “What time is it?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “Morning or afternoon?” asked Gus, yawning.

  “Morning, of course!”

  “Of course,” he muttered. “Stupid question.”

  “Do you feel up to getting out of bed?” asked Oksa, looking at the dressing that still covered the left side of his head. “I heard some funny noises and voices, we have to go and see!”

  How could he resist? Gus got up and followed Oksa, seizing the opportunity to repair their close bond after the angry words they had exchanged a few hours ago. Creeping quietly downstairs, they could definitely hear someone speaking in a low voice in
the back room, where Leomido’s creatures were housed.

  “Hey, you must have really good hearing if you heard this from your room,” remarked Gus in a whisper.

  “First of all, I heard a bell around 3 a.m.,” explained Oksa. “I wonder if it was that alarm-creature the Lunatrixa told us about the other day?”

  “The Tumble-Bawler?”

  “I don’t know—perhaps. I listened but all I could hear was footsteps and Dragomira’s and Leomido’s voices. I wonder what’s going on. C’mon, let’s try and find out more.”

  “Oksa…” sighed Gus.

  He felt much too shattered to try and stop his friend—to do that, he’d have to be in tip-top form, at the very least; and at four o’clock in the morning, after being attacked by a furious Felon and bitten by a Death’s Head Chiropteran, he might as well accept that it was mission impossible. They tiptoed towards the room at the end of the long corridor on the ground floor. The light filtered through the half-open door and they could vaguely hear the muffled voices of Dragomira, Leomido and Abakum. Oksa crept even closer, dragging Gus by the arm. The boy raised his eyes skyward and let her pull him along. When Oksa got an idea into her head, good or bad, nothing could stop her. “She won’t let anything stand in her way when she’s set her mind on something,” Gus thought to himself.

  Standing behind the door, the two spies huddled against the wall in the corner to peer inside the room. They couldn’t see a great deal, but they could make out Dragomira and Leomido in profile, sitting round a table on which crouched a huge, magnificent hare with greyish-brown fur.

  “I covered the entire estate to the sea first, but I didn’t find anything. Oh, my legs are aching like mad, it’s been a long time since I’ve run like that.”

  It was Abakum’s voice. “Where is he?” wondered Oksa. “He must be sitting on the other side of the table.”

  “Do you want some water? You must be exhausted, dear Abakum,” said Dragomira, putting a bowl in front of the hare and stroking it.

  Dragomira was talking to the hare? Oksa frowned, looking completely baffled. Abakum? Abakum the hare? A hare called Abakum? What on earth did that mean? As for Gus, he was just thinking that he was still asleep and was having a really odd dream in which a hare called Abakum was speaking, talking… in Abakum’s voice. “Rubbish!” he thought to himself, leaning against the wall. “I’m delirious.”

  “But I followed my nose to the village and there I saw and heard something very interesting.”

  Oksa stared wide-eyed: it really was the hare talking! With its long ears pricked up, the animal was conversing seriously with Dragomira and Leomido at that very moment, there was no question about it. The hare and Abakum were one and the same! Indeed, McGraw and Orthon, Abakum and the hare—it was a string of double identities. Oksa squeezed Gus’s arm in amazement. He felt as if he’d been transported to another dimension and couldn’t believe he was wide awake. But, after drinking a few sips of water, the hare continued its tale, dispelling any doubts Oksa and Gus might still have had:

  “I saw Orthon in front of the Dirty Liar Hotel. It was very dark, but I recognized him, mainly by his voice, which was as hard and curt as it was fifty years ago. He was loading the boot of a car. He looked as though he was injured and having difficulty carrying his bags. A young boy was helping him, his son… I heard them arguing. Apparently the boy wanted to stay and ‘make one last-ditch attempt’, those were his words. Orthon didn’t agree; he replied that things were more complicated than he’d expected and that he had to come up with a more effective plan. Then they got into the car and drove off.”

  “Well done, Abakum!” Dragomira said to the hare. “That’s really interesting. If Orthon has gone we can rest easy for a while, but none of this bodes well and we’ll have to get ourselves organized before he attacks again, which he will.”

  “Oh—and I also saw the Abominari with him,” added the hare.

  “I suspected that and now I understand why it had become so aggressive lately,” said Dragomira. “It must have sensed its master was in the vicinity. I should have thought of that before. Anyway, it’s no longer roaming the countryside, that’s one good thing, at least. It was so furious that it could have given itself up to one of the Outsiders, just to make trouble for us.”

  “We’ve avoided the worst, that’s for sure,” confirmed the hare, its muzzle quivering.

  “So Orthon has a son,” murmured Leomido, his hands steepled in front of his face, lost in thought.

  “Why wouldn’t he have?” remarked the hare gently. “He’s made a life for himself on the Outside. Like you. Like all of us.”

  Aware that the conversation was drawing to a close and that it would be rather tricky if they were caught blatantly spying, Oksa and Gus chose to make a swift retreat and tiptoed back to Gus’s room. There, they threw themselves on the bed breathlessly, their cheeks flushed.

  “What do you think about that, Gus? Abakum is a hare!”

  “It would be more accurate to say that the hare we’ve just seen is Abakum,” corrected Gus, who was now wide awake.

  Oksa gave a jerky laugh.

  “Whatever. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Not really,” retorted Gus, pretending to be blasé, “I really can’t see why you’re making such a big deal of it. Talking hares are ten a penny, after all! Just like girls who shoot into the air like rockets, hens six feet tall and plants that faint when they get stressed. For someone like me, this is all pretty run of the mill. But you let any little thing impress you! Honestly, you should try to get out more.”

  Her only reply was to hit him over the head with a pillow, to which he retaliated by throwing a bolster at her.

  “You’re lucky you’re injured,” growled Oksa with a laugh. “Otherwise I’d make your life hell.”

  “I’m not afraid of you!” retorted Gus, throwing a sock at her. “Go back to bed and try to get a few more hours’ sleep.”

  “Fine,” whispered his friend with a shrug, throwing back the sock lying on the floor with a flick of her eyes as she left the room.

  “You’re nothing but a big show-off,” accused Gus, smiling.

  When the two friends went down to the kitchen, all the Runaways were having breakfast around a vast table.

  “What’s for lunch?” asked Oksa, sniggering. “I wouldn’t say no to a tasty hare stew…”

  Dragomira suddenly glanced over at Abakum, who looked down with a knowing half-smile.

  “With carrots? Wouldn’t that be nice? Carrots are so tasty! And crunchy,” continued Oksa, delighted with her veiled allusions and her ready wit.

  “Stop it, Oksa,” whispered Gus, as Dragomira hurriedly changed the conversation. “You’re pushing it…”

  “It’s just my nerves,” she replied in the same tone. “I can’t control them any more.”

  “That’s because you’re mental. You really are a nutter.”

  “My Young Gracious!” called out the Lunatrix, alerted by Oksa’s culinary suggestions. “I have the fear that the tasting of stewed hare is impossible to delight your stomach. But I make the suggestion of taking enjoyment in fillets of fish and garden peas in the proximity of thirteen hours. Oh! The dishwasher has rung the bell, the preparation is complete.”

  “The dishwasher?” asked Oksa in astonishment.

  Everyone turned to watch the chubby little creature open the dishwasher and take out a plastic box. The Lunatrix opened the container and a cloud of steam escaped—as well as a delicious fishy smell.

  “Don’t tell me you cooked the fish and the garden peas in the dishwasher!” exclaimed Oksa.

  “Young Gracious, the dishwasher brings to perfection steamed cookery, the certainty is tasty.”

  “That Lunatrix is incredible,” remarked Gus in surprise. “I love him.”

  “If the Young Gracious communicates the desire, some carrots can experience this cookery to make accompaniment with the fish. The wish must be told to be added to the next round of the dishwash
er.”

  “Okay,” agreed Oksa, “carrots get the thumbs-up from me! You’re a genius, Lunatrix.”

  “The Young Gracious gives incredible honour,” replied the Lunatrix, flushing purple with pleasure.

  Leaving the Lunatrixes to their domestic chores, the Runaways exited the kitchen, accompanied by Oksa and Gus. After a short, but refreshing, night’s sleep, they were less emotional and more thoughtful. Sitting in Leomido’s large living room, again doubling as their headquarters, they made the most of them all being there to confer at length, taking decisions and assigning activities: analysing the list, actively searching for Runaways—and Felons—who might still be anywhere in the world, keeping Orthon-McGraw under surveillance—the most important of all these measures being to train Oksa so that she could control her new skills and acquire others.

  “And don’t forget: while there are people around, you aren’t in any danger. But we mustn’t let Orthon find any of us on our own when he comes calling,” continued Pavel.

  “Hey, I know how to defend myself!” exclaimed Oksa. “You must admit that my Tornaphyllon was rather successful.”

  “Yes, and let me take the opportunity to congratulate you on that right now,” replied Dragomira. “With everything that has been going on, we forgot to praise your magnificent first attempt! You controlled your Granok perfectly, well done Oksa.”

  Everyone clapped fervently and Gus whistled loudly. Oksa’s face lit up in a big grin, but her satisfaction was tinged with bitterness, because it was Gus who should really have taken all the credit for her success. He’d remembered the words which had enabled her to shoot the Granok, when she had been in such a panic that she couldn’t think straight. She looked at the Runaways standing there in front of her, so full of hope and so confident. McGraw’s menacing shouts echoed again in her head and she was more aware than ever of how much rested on her head. What if they were all wrong? And what if she wasn’t as strong as they thought?